Former babysitter, turned Preschool teacher, turned nanny, turned mom. Experiences, thoughts and answers to questions I didn't know existed until the leap to the messy and wonderful world of mommyhood…

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It’s 9:10am, my son is eating breakfast, finally. Not “finally” because he won’t eat…but because I couldn’t pull myself out of bed. he’s been up since 7:15. Because of technology, he’s able to watch a show while snuggling with mom (something he loves), while I can sleep longer and know he won’t move. I finally got out of bed solely because he was having a tantrum because my phone suddenly wouldn’t work. At all. Siri, the dumb robot, worked. Not well, obviously, but that was it. A touch phone is useless if you can’t actually TOUCH anything. I have a screaming headache, my husband is gone for another 6 days on his business trip, I have no time for my work, I’ve only left the house in three weeks to feed my son and get groceries…I haven’t even talked to my mom in weeks. I’m in a bad mood and angry. Again.

No. I lied. I leave to go to meetings. What used to annoy me and feel like I wasted gas half the time (this is why we have Zoom!) now feels like a welcome vacation. I put on makeup, I fix my hair, I wear real clothes…I talk to an adult!! Sometimes the meetings go “longer than I intended”, but truth be told it’s because I don’t want to go home. But that means I have to pay a sitter. By not having much time to work right now, I kinda feel like I’m robbing Peter to pay Paul.

I’m rambling a bit, but I feel like I have to paint the picture…this is normal for me. I’m too tired to go anywhere, I’m too tired to DO anything, I yell a lot, and we watch way more TV than I’m comfortable with. I work until 2 and 3am because after 9 is the only time the house is quiet and I can focus, but that means I average no more than 5 hours of sleep a night. My house is a disaster because I just don’t have the energy to care, and we eat out way more than we should because when my son is actually taking a good nap, I don’t dare get up from the computer lest my eating causes my son to instinctively know I’m taking a break.

I was an amazing teacher, and a fantastic nanny. Two years after I stopped nannying, the kids not only remembered me but requested I come over while they were back in the states. Innumerable parents have come up to me, 15 years after the fact, and say “My kid still remembers when you babysat! They loved you! You were always their favorite!” Parents at my preschool were constantly asking if I could sit, or be a part time nanny during summer. I played with them, we made epic messes, we had awesome crafts, they were always fed good food, they went to bed and nap on time, we went on adventures, and the house was always clean when the parents came back.

My son has never had any of that from me.

I feel like I’m failing him because even though I use techniques to teach him to drink from a cup, eat with a fork, recognize letters and numbers, even sign until he can verbally communicate…I’m not fun. I’m kind of a bitch, to be honest. I always wondered why my mom would yell so much, now all I do is yell. There are days I just don’t even want to be around him.

It’s not his fault, he’s brilliant and beautiful and inquisitive and everything a toddler SHOULD be. But instead of reveling in the fact that I now have a constant playmate to build forts with and teach the cool science of cornstarch and water…I get irritated he won’t leave the kitchen while I cook. Because he wants to be held.

I love my son beyond words, but I can’t help but feel like maybe I wasn’t supposed to be a mom. Maybe I was just supposed to be the awesome aunt, because my child isn’t getting a quarter of what I gave to other people’s kids for years…and he deserves so much more than that.

Like this:

So if I finally give in and take a nap while my son takes his nap, and I don’t go pee before hand…logically when my alarm rings I am less likely to hit snooze 12 times because my body will want to get up too… Right?

…right?!?!

*internally pleads this logic is sound and not a Zombie-Mom hope dream*

Like this:

You know you’re doing SOMETHING right as a parent when you have music playing all morning and your 16-month old drops everything to come running to be closer to the speaker while dancing likes he means it when “The Way You Make Me Feel” by MJ comes on.

Like this:

Because it’s Valentine’s Day weekend, I felt this was the most appropriate time to write about this.

I am a part of at least 5 Facebook mom groups, and recently each of them, in some form or another, asked the general question “What do you wish for your kids?”.

The normal, expected things were stated 500 times over: success, happiness, great marriage, beautiful house, health, college education, kids, security, and on. Who wouldn’t want all those things for their children? I want those things for Damian most definitely…

But I want more than that. So very much more than that for him.

In the literally thousands of replies over the few months between the different groups when the question was asked, no one…NO. ONE. said what seemed to be completely obvious to me, what I’ve whispered and wished on him and spoken into existence thousands of times.

“I want you to have someone that loves you as much as I love your daddy.”

More than anything in the world. I wish my son love.

No… not the artful postures of love, not playful and poetical games of love for the amusement of an evening, but love that… overthrows life. Unbiddable, ungovernable – like a riot in the heart, and nothing to be done, come ruin or rapture. Love – like there has never been in a play. ~ Viola De Lesseps, Shakespeare in Love

When people see Jeremy and I, they assume we are “newly weds” or that we have a “young relationship”…you know, the ones that are still in the obsessive phase where the other person is perfect? He is most definitely not perfect, but neither am I. That’s the beauty of it. We’ve been together nine years come March, and our fifth anniversary was New Year’s Eve. We are very, VERY far from perfect.

Not to put a damper on all the good intentions of the well-wishing moms of the world, but shit happens. Serious, awful, devastating shit happens. People lose jobs, hurricanes destroy homes, college doesn’t guarantee a future, happiness is fickle, there’s a million levels of success, and security is an illusion.

But the love I have for that man? The one I call “husband”? Oh my god.

We were told once “maybe you love each other too much” like it was a bad thing to be willing to go to the ends of the earth and beyond for another person. Then we realized, we have a gift that is rather unfamiliar, unorthodox, and extremely rare. We’ve gone through hell and back, walked through some amazingly awful times together, nearly ended it all because of toxic people in our life, and lost everything. Twice. We cancelled our wedding because his mother said she wouldn’t show, dealt with crazy exes, a shared child from another mother that we hardly see at all, severe health issues and going to school while working, and then some. All that and we’re only in our early thirties.

The point is, regardless of what happens (because life happens) there is one undeniable fact that is as true today as it was nine years ago in March in a basement where I said “I love you” without restraint or hesitation only weeks after meeting my soulmate. I love the man that has CHOSEN me (and he can just as easily choose to walk away) to share his life with me with every fiber of my being, and it’s because I know he loves me in the same “The Notebook/Outlander/Titanic/Casablanca/Shakespearean/Princess Bride” type way that people think is just make believe. But it’s not. We just wouldn’t settle for less.

So yes. The one thing, above all, that I wish for my son is true love.

Eight months ago, I started writing this post…then in whirlwind of life, I forgot about it. I never finished. At first I thought about deleting it all, then I realized “Oh my god. I forgot about the whole incident!” Read on…

Two days ago, my son pulled himself up to standing. He’d been attempting for a small while, and because I’m wanting be able to relive every amazing moment of his life in 20 years, I had my camera ready.

We have one of those half infant half toddler tubs from Target. It’s been his only tub, and because we’ve stood him up every single night in the tub since birth to wash that tiny little butt, it’s not surprising this was where he attempted, and accomplished, his newfound talent. If you’ve ever seen these tubs you know that the infant side is sloped like a spa tub so he could lay back and just splash. As he grew and could sit unassisted, we flipped it around to the toddler side…where he could splash. He gathered a few weeks ago that where the head goes on the infant side could be used as a handle and has been pulling himself up and over to flatten his tummy on the slope to generally reach around for things at a new angle. Recently, with the help of mom and dad, he’s been standing much faster from a laying or sitting position while on the floor.

So this night, we saw his little brain working, while he was wiggling and reaching and splashing. Jeremy sat on the floor to catch, I worked the camera. He leaned forward, grabbed ahold of the infant side and very slowly straightened his legs. He concentrated so hard, wobbled a bit and fell backwards. Then he did it again. And again. And again. Each time he got sturdier, and thus more confident. Each time Jeremy and I held our breath so we wouldn’t break his concentration. Each time, I got closer and closer to sobbing.

Finally, he did it. He stood up, stayed sturdy (as much as you can having never really used your legs before now) straightened his torso and walked his hands up the seat in the shower…and promptly grabbed for the shampoo.

Damian stood up that day…May 11, 2014

I have never been SO proud in my life! Then I realized: except when he rolled over the first time, or sat up without assistance, or we felt teeth buds, or when he ate solid foods, or when I lost him in the living room because he’d rolled from one side to the other, or when he nursed for the very first time.

My kid is amazing. I know, moms…right? But seriously. Amazing! Maybe not because he’s developing wonderfully or because he’s so chill or because I still feel I don’t deserve this tiny miracle, but I think he’s amazing because he simply is. When exactly do we become so tarnished and beaten that we think one decent effort is “good enough”? I keep replaying how many times, and for how many weeks, did he try standing? What if I tried something that hard?! What could I do? Talk amount blowing your mind…

Amazing right? How on EARTH could I forget about it?! The answer was right there, like an annoying fly that won’t get the clue when you swat at it, because LIFE has happened.

First time feeding himself. April 2014

Since then, he’s learned to walk, to feed himself, to drink from a cup, use a fork and climb the stairs. He’s learned where his eyes, ears, mouth, nose, tummy and toes are. He’s learned how to make animal sounds, and find his socks and shoes. He’s learned how to sign for mom, dad, eat, drink, show, bye-bye, please, all-done, milk, play, more and bath. He learned to climb on the couch and that he can see daddy through the window when he’s home from work. He knows the iPad is how you talk to grandma and grandpa, that DayCare means other kids to play with, and when someone is cooking that the kitchen is dangerous.

First real steps. October 2014

He’s massive now (compared to that tiny ten pound bundle we brought home), he’s sooooooooo smart, and he’s growing so fast. Everyone said he would, but when you stop for a moment to really think about it, it is alarming. Eight months ago he learned to stand, now he runs and climbs. EIGHT. That’s less than a full-term pregnancy, a school year, only two and a half seasons.

First time going up the stairs by himself. November 2014

As parents we’re so exhausted and overwhelmed all the time that though we celebrate when an accomplishment is made, by the next day it’s old hat. One days he can’t, the next day he can. Simple as that.

Waiting for Daddy. January 2014

But it’s not. I feel like Moira from “Hook” with Robin Williams is standing there saying:

“Your children love you, they want to play with you. How long do you think that lasts? Soon Jack may not even want you to come to his games. We have a few special years with our children, when they’re the ones that want us around. After that you’re going to be running after them for a bit of attention. It’s so fast Peter. It’s a few years, and it’s over. And you are not being careful. And you are missing it.“

BAM! Right in the feelers. I work at home, go to school virtually, raise Little Man and pretend to be a house wife (though the last gets neglected more often than not). So many days I’ve just wanted him to keep sleeping, to zone out on the TV, to play without calling out for me just to get a break. Then he did. It was a relief…and yet heartbreaking. He was fine without me.

He’s growing up so fast. I’m very blessed to be home with him, I know that…and even with the emotions, the fatigue, the dirty house, and feeling overwhelmed I thank god every day I’m not missing it.

I have my own thoughts…but this guy’s are pretty interesting to say the very least. This article written by a man named Matt Walsh is pretty involved, with great resources, and some pretty astounding responses to his Twitter feed.